“Then, Aunt,” he answered with one of
those dark smiles that turned my blood cold, “then,
Aunt, the best thing which you can do is to kill the
other man and take it out, for after that the fruit
will taste all the sweeter.”

“Get you gone, Swart Piet,” I said in
anger, “for no man who talks thus shall stay
in my house, and it is very well for you that neither
my husband nor Ralph Kenzie are here to put you out
of it.”

“Well,” he answered, “they are not
here, are they? And as for your house, it is
a pretty place, but I only seek one thing in it, and
that is not built into the walls. I thank you
for your hospitality, Aunt, and now, good-day to you.”

“Suzanne!” I called, “Suzanne!”
for I thought that she was in her chamber; but the
girl, knowing that Piet van Vooren was here, had slipped
out, and of this he was aware. He knew, moreover,
where she had gone, for I think that one of his Kaffir
servants was watching outside and told him, and thither
he followed her and made love to her.

In the end—­for he would not be put off—­he
asked her for a kiss, whereat she grew angry.
Then, for he was no shy wooer, he tried to take it
by force; but she was strong and active and slipped
from him. Instead of being ashamed, he only laughed
after his uncanny fashion, and said:

“Well, missy, you have the best of me now, but
I shall win that kiss yet. Oh! I know all
about it; you love the English castaway, don’t
you? But there, a woman can love many men in
her life, and when one is dead another will serve
her turn.”

“What do you mean, myn Heer van Vooren?”
asked Suzanne, afraid.

“Mean? Nothing, but I shall win that kiss
yet, yes, and before very long.”

CHAPTER IX

HOW SUZANNE SAVED SIHAMBA

Now in a valley of the hills, something over an hour’s
ride from the farm, and not far from the road that
ran to Swart Piet’s place, lived the little
Kaffir witch-doctoress, Sihamba Ngenyanga. This
woman did not belong to any of the Transkei or neighbouring
tribes, but had drifted down from the North; indeed,
she was of Swazi or some such blood, though why she
left her own people we did not know at that time.
In appearance Sihamba was very strange, for, although
healthy, perfectly shaped and copper-coloured rather
than black, she was no taller than a child of twelve
years old—­a thing that made many people
believe that she was a bush woman, which she most
certainly was not. For a Kaffir also she was
pretty, having fine small features, beautiful white
teeth, and a fringe of wavy black hair that stood
out stiffly round her head something after the fashion
of the gold plates which the saints wear in the pictures
in our old Bible.